Perfect Shade of Disappointment
by quibbler149
Summary: He's no stranger to disappointment. He just wonders when it'll end. Chuck-centric


_Disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girl, or anything, or… are you even reading this?_

**Title: **Perfect Shade of Disappointment

**Author: **quibbler149

**Summary: **Sometimes the disappointment starts but never ends. CB Oneshot.

**Characters: **Chuck B., Blair W.

(o) - O - (o)

"I don't know why they call it heartbreak. It feels like every part of my body is broken too. "

**- Chloe Woodward**

(o) - O - (o)

Chuck Bass is no stranger to disappointment.

He sees it everyday.

It lingers in his father's eyes. He looks away and downs another Scotch to avoid it. Avoidance is a temporary solution. But a solution, temporary or no, is better than none at all.

He's been disappointed and a disappointment for as long as he can remember.

"Murderer" whispers the shadows of his childhood. He covers his ears, flooding out what he thought his mother's smile might have looked like. He'll never know.

Chuck tells himself that his mother's death wasn't his fault. Logically, it isn't.

But logic isn't enough to shroud the pain and sweep away the shattered wants. Logic isn't enough to make Bart Bass love his son. Logic isn't enough to not make Chuck feel like a murderer.

There are so many women and so many parties. He loses himself for a while.

It feels good to numb the pain.

And magically, wonderfully, Blair comes stumbling to Victrola one night. He watches in fascination as the epitome of excellence sheds her outer clothes and purity, tapping a finger seductively on her left shoulder. It's like the terrible slaying of a beautiful creature.

Chuck can't look away.

It's so disgusting and so perfect when he reaches for Blair. She mumbles her assent and that's all it takes for his self-control to evaporate.

Damn Nate. Nate can go to hell.

He's surprised that he's surprised when she wants naught to do with him the morning after. That was only expected, after all. But he can't help gazing after the only girl he wants so badly but cannot possibly gain. Her stiletto shoes clack a disconcerting rhythm against the city pavement.

Chuck can almost smell her perfume, but he isn't sure if it's a flowery scent or just the trees outside. It bothers him and he can't figure out why.

When Nate's indiscretions are known at Blair's seventeen, Chuck doesn't want more disappointment. He approaches her, diamonds in hand, foreign cares fluttering a hurricane inside his stomach. This scares him because he's never felt this way. He stills himself and scrutinizes her silhouette in the dim lantern-light.

"Is that our sex tape?" asks she. He scoffs. "Just open it."

She does and she gasps and she allows him to lean his forehead against the same shoulder she tapped so softly at Victrola not so long ago. It seems like an age before they've done this. They're so caught up in the heat of the moment that they don't notice the door opening a crack, a wisp of blonde hair filtering through the hinges.

Chuck feels alive.

He's no longer a disappointment. He has Blair! And she fills every leftover space that's possibly there to fill. Her red stockings wrap lithely around his waist and he rubs the mess of hair that's draping over her eye and around her shoulders and down her back. It's everywhere. Chuck smells it and decides it's his.

Not Nate's.

And then she's gone.

And the disappointment there is enough to block the ocean. It's even worse than it was before. He gropes blindly for his limo and doesn't care where he's going. As long as he can escape the newspaper headline and the image of a beautiful girl smothering his (former?) best friend with kisses.

He laughs at himself because for a fleeting moment he believed those kisses belonged to him.

Nothing belongs to him.

So Chuck gets drunk and pissed. It's the only language he knows how to speak.

It's the only language he will speak right now.

When he compares Blair to his father's Arabians, he can literally see her distress. Her disappointment inspires his to creep out as well. He watches her quietly leave the bar, his gaze furrowed and scorched with something he doesn't entirely understand.

It's always been Blair, and he thinks he's found happiness.

But there's Amelia with her short blue dress and her blonde ponytail. He plucks a single red rose from the bouquet before hurling it into the depths of never-return. "Amelia, a word?"

Her long legs suggest she knows exactly what he wants.

His insecurities have gotten the better of him again.

When he tries to make amends, Blair has a gorgeous Lord Marcus dripping off her arm.

He tries not to be jealous and to not feel the disappointment penetrate him for the countless time.

Chuck Bass is no stranger to disappointment.

It's like a blur of formal dinners and playing games and endless rounds of Blair and tragedies and gossip when Chuck suffers the deepest disappointment of all.

Someone has forced him into a black suit and he's trudging reluctantly towards a series of headstones, Blair and Nate on either side. In his subconscious, he recalls protesting and thinking that those two are using this excuse to get together. He can't think straight. He's never had so many drinks before. It feels strange and heavy, but so beautifully light at the same time. He wants to cry and cover himself with sympathy and hotel sheets.

When Blair tells him she loves him he walks away. It's easier to grab the neck of the bottle than Blair's hand. Absently, he realizes she might not forgive him. He doesn't know if he will forgive himself.

Jack is his friend.

Jack is his ally.

Jack tries to take away Bart's company.

Chuck is too weak to fight, but Blair hangs on, tooth and nail. He wonders what he ever did to deserve something as wonderful as her. He wonders a lot these days. It's all talk and no action.

She doesn't accept his apology or flowers when he offers them to her. The flora she throws away makes him feel thrown away too.

Maybe that's why his nickname is Chuck.

This time he is ready for the disappointment. He spits at it and crushes it angrily with the heel of his hand. He's not Charles Bartholomew Bass if he'll let it get the better of him.

There are more obstacles and misunderstandings to boulder through before the day is over. Somewhere along the way, Blair returns to Nate and Chuck buries his rage in the Brooklyn girl. She's an effortless interruption and they readily part ways when needed. Chuck is glad. He doesn't want to see her again.

Blair's wearing a green coat, her curls bouncing gaily to her footed steps. He kicks away the cowardice and disappointment for good and faces her full on.

Three words, eight letters. Say it, and I'm yours.

He says it, as sure as the sun in the sky.

The rewarding caresses and giggles make him wonder why he hasn't said them earlier.

When he gets back home, he loots his entire Scotch supply and unravels the cap. The amber alcohol is tipped resentfully out the opening and Chuck watches with satisfaction as it slithers like a snake towards the bottom of the toilet.

He flushes away the bad memories and the late, drunken nights and the disappointment that used to seem so endless.

**AN: I've written about Blair, I've written about Nate, now it's Chuck's turn (finally). I must admit, I'm not entirely satisfied with this. There are some good parts that I like, but some that make no sense. Also, I am not happy with the fact that I used 'disappointment' SO many times. Chuck has a very mixed life. He's alike to Blair in that they are (quoting Serena) "self-damaged people". That raises my interest in them. It's exciting to write about their troubled worlds. **


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